I picked up my car today. It seems to be running. The damned light is gone, so at least I got that much. I feel more better today. Luckily nothing keeps me down for too long. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever really been scary depressed, and how well I would deal with it.
Most of the time I shut up and don’t tempt Fate.
As if in sympathy, Carissa was having a rough time in her life right now, so I called her up and we agreed to meet up at the Block and talk about life and all the wackiness and stupidity that usually comes with it. And the good stuff as well. Like insane tangents of beautiful absurdity. I was in great form tonight, if I do say so myself. My mind is usually a little more muddled, but I got her laughing so that kept me going.
The best three were as follows:
The Deep-Fried Twinkie: In which Carissa deals with the dark aftermath of Festival food three years after the fact. Also, there is stressed out microscopic workers, vomit, and the darkest of revenge.
I Could Be David Bowie: In which I am the front man of a rock band of questionable quality playing at the $3 Cinerama Dome. Also, there is singing on one’s back, microphones, and quitting a band member as opposed to firing them.
And probably the best one of the night!:
A New Word For Getting Punched: In which Carissa terrorizes somebody with constant threats of abuse and can only (maybe) be calmed down with French fries. Also, there is ordering a #9, a #1, and another #1, destroying a spleen, and broken teeth.
Topics of Conversation: The Canadian look, Viking Birthdays, magnetic earrings, peachy penguins, bee hives, my inferior cell phone, the difference between knowing and doing, etc.